


Can't Lose Another Life

by RacheTanz



Category: Sam & Max
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Family Bond, Hurt/Comfort, Natural Disasters, They're All Gonna Need Therapy After This, a Lot !! of angst, a little bit of gore but like Not Much, adam is soft lad but dont underestimate him, also since theres a lot of New Folks lately heres a smatterin of info, and there's a lot of Talk of What-Ifs, by gays for gays, domino swears like a sailor also theyre trans, flint is a Good Dad, flint is their adoptive dad even tho theyre both adults lmao, i basically listend to jus 1 song on repeat writin this ive gone a lil feral, implied PTSD, nobody Actually Dies they just Think they died for A While, separated this from the rest of my Domino fic cause it's more intense, theyre on a case for this but it ends up bein Irrelevant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:20:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23608225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RacheTanz/pseuds/RacheTanz
Summary: A blizzard hits, leaving the three stranded and separated. Flint reflects on why in the first place he hadn’t wanted to let anyone close to him.
Kudos: 4





	Can't Lose Another Life

**Author's Note:**

> S O .... i started this a While ago, and halfway thru i found out, thanks to a friend in a Discord server, that according to some discarded dialogue from 303, Flint DID once have a partner to whom something Awful happened. so basically my headcanon is canon fight me (im kidding but holy shit y'all)  
> so uh Yeah this deals with that ! hence the "technically nobody dies, but it's mentioned a lot" tag. also i feel like i gotta specify no one dies cause some folx would Perhaps riot if i killed off either of my fluffy bastards so rest assured, no dogs died in the making of this.

“You ever thought you’d get to see the Himalayas up close, Domino?” Flint called over his shoulder as he peered up at the cliff faces before them, grappling hook in hand, searching for what seemed to be a solid spot. He wheeled back as the dog he called to, his adopted-child-and-work-partner Domino, heaved themself up the cliff right behind him, their brother in tow. 

“Hones’ly can’t say I have,” they panted, scrabbling to their feet in the snow. They weren’t used to the cold or to cliff-climbing, but there was a certain zen in the amount it physically took out of them. That being said, they stood half-bent-over for a moment, puffing, struggling to get some air. Adam stood up behind them, shaking snow off himself, then gently patted them on the back. He’s faring a bit better, but then again, he didn’t have anything compressing his chest. 

“You good, champ?” Flint tugged on the rope to make sure the hook was secured. 

“Don’worry ’bout it.” They straightened up, eyes fixed to the rope now. “How much further?” 

“Soon we’ll reach one of the designated climbing areas, where they’ve already got stuff set up for us. Then after that it’s just another mile of this sort of thing, and we’re at our lodgings!” Flint hoisted himself up onto the rope. 

“Right.” Domino turned to look out at the view. Mist and snow clouded the mountains, thin sunlight burning brightly into their eyes. They squinted, lifting a paw to shield them, but it didn’t really help. 

“It’s beautiful up here,” Adam mumbled, and for a second the siblings were lost in the moment, huddled together against the wind with snow melting beneath their paw-pads. The sky was a brilliant, almost-white blue, hardly a cloud in sight, the sun a white orb of little heat. Their breath fogged almost before it left their mouths. 

After a moment, Domino snapped back to attention, turning around to follow their dad up the rope, and Adam followed them as always. 

By the third hour of endless climbing, the two dogs were very clearly feeling tired. They eyed the ever-unflappable Flint with a hint of envy as he carried on with a gung-ho aura to him, chattering pleasantly about the weather and the view and how fun this all was. 

If they’d been able to peer into the future, perhaps they’d have stopped and taken a break, or turned around altogether. But none of them had that ability, and so they pressed on; by halfway through their fourth hour it would end up being quite the mistake, though not one they could have accounted for.

The storm swept in seemingly all-at-once, though had the two dogs been more attuned to the weather they’d have noticed the pressure drop. (As it stands, Domino did notice a profound _bad feeling_ in their gut, but chalked it up to having not eaten for at least a day prior to this.) It began with light snowfall, which quickly whipped itself into a blinding wall of white flakes, obscuring everything around them, clinging to their hair and their clothes, melting on contact to freeze them further in the whiplike lashes of wind. At one point Domino would swear Flint shouted something down to them but their paws slipped when they glanced up to check, and after a momentary panic they decided to just push on doggedly regardless. It’s easier to keep going than try to reorganize. 

* * *

It was just a little farther, Flint kept telling himself. As he climbed he felt anxiety swirling in him, worsening right alongside the storm. This was bad. He hadn’t accounted for this, he didn’t know if the two were strong enough climbers for this—he certainly was, he’d been here before, but he knew they never had—and he felt unpleasantly trapped on the rope. He couldn’t go back down, or he’d just kick Domino; he tried to call down earlier but the wind felt like it was ripping the words from his throat, and he got no answer. Likely, they couldn’t hear him. So he had to press on as if nothing were happening, lacking the ability to coordinate with them.

Every inch he ascended he just wanted to turn around and be able to talk to them. The growing anxiety of not being able to see, hear, or speak to them was eating away at him and he did his best to hurry, both so they could shelter on the cliff above and so they wouldn’t be risking the hook failing. He was so zoned-in on the task of climbing as fast as possible that even if the two had said something, he might not have been able to hear it.

There was nothing but brilliant white snow swirling all around, and Flint realized he could feel the rope he was holding onto flapping beneath him. There was no weight on the other end. That fact rested heavily in the pit of his stomach and he scrabbled up the rest of the way as quick as he could before the grappling hook would fall off. He turned and looked and hoped against hope he’d see a splash of red hair right below, on the rope—

 _Red splattered across the ground, across the stones_ — 

He didn’t need to think about that right now. 

There wasn’t anything he could see. Just the rope fluttering in the wicked wind, disappearing into the blur of snowfall. The longer he looked the more blind he felt. He was freezing right down to the bone but he couldn’t help but consider going back down to find them, and was about to kneel down and begin his descent when the rope was yanked by a particularly strong bluster that almost sent him tumbling down the cliff face too, and then it was gone, hook and all, tumbling through the sky. 

He was stranded, and there wasn’t anything he could do. Not to help them _or_ help himself. He pressed his back to the cliff edge and sidled along it, pawing around for some kind of crevice he could tuck himself in, to avoid the whirling wind. If he were lucky, he’d find a cave. But he’s Flint Paper, dammit, and he’s not about to die out here. He just had to hope if either of the two fell, they were okay. He had to hold on to that flimsy notion that they didn’t fall, but managed to climb down the cliff face, and would be waiting at the bottom for him to come rescue them and hug them and not let go for hours—

He needed to find shelter. 

* * *

Domino’s body hit the snow drift with a loud “oof” as the air rushed from their already-compromised lungs. For a moment they choked, stunned diaphragm struggling against their binder, until they sucked in a wheezing breath. The cold was devastating, icy pall clinging to their fur, numbing their nose and their mouth to the point they would swear they were drooling. They forced themself up on their elbows, then to all fours, then to their feet, head swimming, not sure if the spots in their vision were from oxygen deprivation or the blizzard. They almost didn’t feel like they were standing for a moment, but they staggered forward regardless, paws out, searching, searching, until they felt the roughness of the cliff face under their numb pads and they pressed themself to it, pausing for a moment to steady themself. After deep breaths they looked left and right, squinting in the snow, one thought forcing to the forefront of their cloudy mind.

_Where is Adam?_

* * *

Adam clung to the rope like his life depended on it, shivering in fright, searching for sight of his fallen sibling far below, but he couldn’t see anything much further than a yard beyond his tail. Their yelp still rang in his ears and he started whimpering without even realizing it.

He was alone. Or at least he felt alone. Flint was above him, far enough not to be seen, and Domino had just plummeted—what should he do? Does he go down to find them, or scramble up and tell their dad what happened? Surely he felt it. ( _What if he didn't?_ ) The rope whipped about in Adam’s paws and he shook more, realizing the blizzard would surely rip it from his grasp eventually. He turned and looked adjacent to him, eventually spotting a rocky outcropping that seemed big enough to stand on. He shimmied over, keeping a somewhat-loose hold on the rope until he reached the outcropping; he tested it with his foot, pressing half his weight on it before climbing on. It felt stable enough, and he reached it just in time, as the moment his full weight was situated on the platform he felt the rope go limp in his grip, then get yanked out of his paw by the wind. He yelped, grabbing the hurt paw with his other one—rope-burn—before turning his attention, in a panic, to the horizon again, terrified he’s about to see Flint falling past him just as Domino had. 

He counted the seconds as they ticked by. One mississippi, two mississippi, three… 

At the seventeenth _mississippi_ , he realized if Flint had fallen, he’d have seen it, or heard it, or something. Maybe not. The wind howling and shrieking in his ears, ruffling fluffy hair, drowned out even his own pulse as he looked to and fro, lost, searching for some sign of what to do. Why hadn’t he ever studied up on how to survive a blizzard on a mountainside? He tucked his paws close to him, folding them under his arms, trembling. He wasn’t even sure he was still cold, he just felt horrible and sick and alone. All alone. One dark speck of a poodle amongst the icy swirl of hateful nature beside him. He pressed his back to the cliff face, then flipped over, shimmying carefully along it. Gotta find a cave, or some kind of shelter. He’s smart enough to know staying exposed would be the worst thing he could do. The icicles crusting to his eyelashes just drove that point home.

* * *

The wind howling past the entrance of the hollow somehow only furthered the horrible guilty feeling settling in Flint’s stomach. He should have done more. Should have prepared more, should have anticipated a freak blizzard, should have had more safety equipment, but he’d thought it would be fine. Being alone for so long—alone and uncaring for his own health—had left him reckless. He forgot about this part, you see. This part of letting people get close to him: losing them. Eventually. Usually sooner rather than later because life never goes as you plan it to. It wasn’t a new concept in all his years of life but it was one he’d done his best to avoid like the plague, ever since—

 _Ever since the last time it was your fault, Flint_. 

He sighed and kneaded his eyebrow, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut. There wouldn’t be any point in crying over it. Once the storm subsided, maybe his cell phone would get a signal, and he’d be able to call for help. Foolish to not go into this area with a backup plan or help on the outside. But hindsight wasn’t going to help him now. He just had to have faith that the kids were alright. 

But he couldn’t keep his mind from wandering back to an incident— _The_ Incident—that he hadn’t thought about in years now. If he shut his eyes it felt like he was right there all over again, hearing the gunshot echoing around the corner, sprinting down that city block and seeing it all over again, _blood all over again_ , and if he just hadn’t _left them_ —

He smacked himself in the face. Sitting here letting himself fall down old rabbit holes wouldn’t help him. Maybe he hadn’t changed or maybe he had but either way, he hadn’t solved that case back then and he wasn’t about to let it take up valuable mental real estate when he needed to be focused on saving the two people he so selfishly tethered to him even after what happened and what he knew about himself. He _knew_ he was a damned black hole and he still saw fit to pull these two kids into his orbit. That must make him a special kind of horrible—

_Not important right now, Flint. Focus, dammit!_

It was his fault they were stuck out there, and by god, he was going to be the one to save them, too. 

* * *

Domino had read once, in some magazine abandoned by the roadside—in those days, they used to read—about a man who survived being stranded in a blizzard by burrowing under the snow. They couldn’t help but think that must have been a load of bullshit, though, but it didn’t exactly matter if they couldn’t figure it out; lie still long enough and you’ll be buried under at least a yard of snow. Find out the hard way. They kept walking, anyways, much as their bones ached and they were starting to think they cracked a rib or two on that landing earlier, and the snow looked so inviting, like a pillow… 

_No, stop that. You need t’be focusin’ on findin’ shelter of some kind._

They weren’t going to find anything, they’re sure. They didn’t really know much about the Himalayas, but they didn’t recall ever hearing anything about caves. They thought bitterly about all the shit they lived through, only to be done-in by some stupid meteorological event, and then their gut twisted thinking about Adam, still on that rope. Would he be okay? They didn’t see him fall, but they don’t know how long they were lying prone. Was Flint okay? Did he make it to the top of the cliff edge, or did he fall too? They knew he was hardy but he’d have fallen from a taller height than them, and they were a little fucked-up by the fall, how bad off would he be? They needed shelter. Their bones were frozen. They dropped to their knees and started to struggle to shape the snow into something they could curl up in the boundaries of, shivering more as they felt icy wetness seeping into their legs. They just needed to stay out of the wind, is all. Then they’d be fine. Or at least if they weren’t, neither their dad nor their little brother would find their body easily. Adam didn’t need to see that. They remembered reading someplace else how dead bodies are used on Everest as mile-markers, because the cold keeps them preserved or something. Like a fridge.

They felt a little nauseated. Burrowing into the snow a bit, they shivered slightly, then drew their scarf up over their muzzle. They were definitely drooling, they realized, entire snout numb, but that wasn’t anything they could help. They just felt so tired—head still swimming slightly, feeling like every thought struggled through a wall of molasses to be perceived by them—they needed to rest. Shut their eyes. Maybe the storm would pass and that thin sunlight would blight their eyes again by the time they woke. As some kind of clumsy afterthought they fidgeted around in the pocket of their jacket before pulling out that little handheld packet of heating powder—what did Flint call it? Hot-paws?—and clenching it in both hands. It needed to be shaken or something to work, but it was already a little warm from the fact they fell on it, and they clung to it, curling up as tightly as possible. The world felt like it was tilting even though they weren’t standing anymore. They wished it would all just stop. 

* * *

Flint paced in the cave, still feeling chilled to the bone. He needed to keep moving to stave off hypothermia, and he hoped the kids were doing the same. He _had_ indeed had the foresight to have the don’t-freeze-to-death chat with them, but he couldn’t be sure anything _stuck_ in such a frightening situation. He wasn’t sure they’d be able to recall, with their brains all rattled by terror. He should’ve told them he loves them more often. Some part of him was screaming to go back out, to find them and protect them somehow—but what could he do? It’s not like he could haul them up here into the cavern and it’s not like he had a fire to warm them or himself by, even if he could get them up here. He rubbed his hands over his arms and cursed himself for being so ill-prepared, for the millionth time. 

He’s never liked this particular aspect of any case. The _worrying_ part. He’d been lucky, so far, to avoid it in most cases, but in high-stakes times like these he’d rather he were able to just shut off the concern, the guilt, uncloud his mind and focus on just the solutions. Frustratingly, though, he knew he couldn’t find some kind of a solution—what was he to do, change the weather? He’s capable of a great many things but that’s not one of them. 

He sat down on the floor, massaging feeling into his hands, breathing on them every now and then to help. He’d never been keen on the cold, but especially now he felt just irrationally annoyed by it. This was supposed to be pretty easy, after all. He’d done this a lot before—

_Alone—_

and he’d almost forgotten how fast shit could hit the fan. 

* * *

Adam paced in a tight circle, panting. Now was _not_ the time for a panic attack, but he wasn’t able to talk himself down—Domino was so much better at soothing him—he wished he could hug them again. The thought he’d never do so again loomed behind him and set his whole body trembling. His lungs felt tight and it felt like his eyes weren’t working right but if he stopped pacing for even a moment he would collapse, and the ground was icy-cold. He tried to close his eyes and breathe in a solid four-seven-eight rhythm, but it didn’t do much this time. He wasn’t freaking out over a bad memory or a shitty nightmare, he was freaking out over the fact he couldn’t tell if his family was alive or if he, even, would survive, and by god he wanted to survive, and he wanted them to survive too, but _what if they didn’t_ and _what if they both fell and were suffering slow deaths injured in the snow_ and _what if he was_ **_all alone again_ ** and, and, and and andand _andand_ —

He sat (more like fell on his ass) hard on the floor of the little cavern, breathing hard. His hands felt numb and he couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or hyperventilating. Clutching his head in his hands, he tried to force his breathing to normalize, struggling to empty his head. He pictured a quiet place, a rolling green hillside, with light blue skies and white fluffy clouds. If he closed his eyes tight enough and pressed his hands over his ears he could only hear the light wind ruffling through the tall wild grass and his fur. A place he barely saw but still remembered. Before things fell apart (or at least, before he realized). He felt his heart rate stabilizing a bit, or at least he assumed it was, as his pulse stopped thundering through his ears. His full-body trembling deescalated to the usual cold-and-anxious shivering he felt during stressful winter days, and he could breathe a little easier. 

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but the wind had subsided a smidge. He lifted his head from his hands, carding a paw through his fluffy hair before wiping a bit of foam off his muzzle with the back of the same hand. He stood stiffly—you’d be surprised how much sitting and trembling for a while can take out of you—and he looked at the wall of snow in front of the cavern entrance and realized he was extremely lucky the wind didn’t help fill his cavern. And then he thought about Flint and Domino having to be out there in it, stranded, maybe even unconscious. 

He started crying.

* * *

The moment the wind looked to be letting up even slightly, the now-very-agitated Flint Paper left his hiding hole and made his way back to where he figured the cliff had been, slogging through snow. His hands and feet were entirely numb but it didn’t matter. He peered over the edge, quickly deduced that would be useless given how much snow had fallen, then started searching for a way down. He had to find them. He had to, even if it killed him. 

Numb hands were difficult to climb down with, especially with no support system, but he made it work because he knew he had to. Every cliff edge he found where he could get a foothold, he searched, but he didn't find any caverns or dogs. The thought that one of them could have nestled in a cavern, then been snowed-in hits him more than once and it hurts to think about each time. Could they be trapped, waiting for help, with no way to reach him? He kept checking to see if he had any reception. He never did. He really, really hoped they weren’t buried under the very snow he was walking on. 

Relief came to him in the sound of Adam barking. He’d know the noise anywhere, of course, and so he yelled back, “Adam?!”

“Dad!” Came the echoey reply. 

“Where are you?” Flint cursed inwardly at the echo throwing him off. 

“I only made it halfway up, I think—” Adam shouted. It seemed like it was coming from a platform below him. “It’s almost all-the-way snowed-in, Da.” 

He sounded frightened.

“Just wait, Adam, I’ll find you.” Flint searched for a way down a bit further. 

“Da, Domino… They, they,” Adam sounded choked-up now and it made Flint’s blood run cold. Before he even finished what he was saying, Flint already knew they must not be with him—that’s why he sounded so terrified. All alone in a little cave. He hastened his search as Adam whined out, “They _fell!_ They _fell_ an’ I didn’t _see_ ’em and—”

He broke off with a sob and Flint paused, hanging his head, clenching his jaw. He had to keep his shit together, he had to—

 _a splash of red splayed out from the head and it’s all your fault_ —

make sure he kept his wits about him in order to get them both out safely. “It’s okay, Adam,” he called back, sounding far, far more level-headed, kept-together, and reassuring than he felt, “just stay put, once I get you out we’ll both find them. Okay? They’re probably alright. You know how tough they are.”

“Okay,” Adam warbled, clearly sobbing. 

It took another hour to get Adam out. Ten minutes to play a bit of marco-polo to find him, fifty to dig him out. Lucky for the both of them he had such hardy claws. Flint couldn’t let himself cave to his immediate impulse of hugging his son, because he knew the moment he did, the dam would break, and they still had to find Domino. Instead he gently took his shivering, terrified son by the shoulders and asked, “Did you see where they fell?”

* * *

They checked every platform on the way down, all the way back to the cliff they’d been paused at just before the storm, searching for a bump that could, potentially, conceal a fallen poodle. Flint saw no blood, but he couldn’t really take that as a good sign, given how much snow fell during the storm. Digging would be difficult, as it always was with snow, but if they were careful, it wouldn’t collapse and suffocate Domino. If they were careful. Could he even _be_ careful? His hands were shaking and he wasn’t sure it was just from the cold or the effort of climbing or neither. “Domino?” At this rate, the two would yell themselves hoarse before getting any kind of an answer. He checked his phone again. Still no bars. It was the only thing keeping him in the here-and-now, and not back at The Incident. “Domino?” 

If there was any answer, it was too quiet. Every second Flint heard the blood thundering in his ears was another second wasted. He blinked and for a moment saw city streets on a rainy night. Why did everything bad happen in storms? Adam walked beside him, sniffing the air, and Flint couldn’t help but pray that either Adam’s nose or the general funk of Domino was strong enough to work in their favor here. Adam started turning his focus down, then crouching, sniffing along the snow, until he paused somewhat-near a definitive slight rise in the snow. “I think they’re ’ere, under th’snow.”

Under the snow. Not in a cavern, no shelter, _buried_. He felt sick. “Alright. Now we start digging. Listen, Adam…” His voice died. He couldn’t break it to Adam, he just couldn’t. They had to just pretend there was a high chance Domino was still alive, not the other way around. “We… need to dig a box around them. We don’t want snow near enough to collapse on them.” He wished they had a shovel. “If their head is covered we need to get that uncovered as soon as possible.” He knew what to do. Vaguely. He read an article once about what to do in an avalanche. This was probably similar.

Adam nodded, looking shell-shocked, and they started digging as best they could with bare hands. Flint didn’t care if under his gloves his fingers turned to a bloodied mess, he was going to unearth his child and he was going to make sure they were alright. Minutes blurred together as they dug down, and eventually he felt his hand hit something solid and soft and his breath caught in the back of his throat. “I found them,” he shouted to Adam, who hurried over to help, pawing the snow off their form. 

Their eyes were shut, crusted blood visible in their hair as a dark mar on its vibrance, and Flint yanked off his glove, placing his hand in front of their snout. He felt a slight warm breath against his knuckles and he heaved a sigh of relief, then turned to Adam, who still looked tense. “Adam, you have to help me carry them up. We’re not far from the cabin, and up there we’ll finally have cell reception.” 

“How’re we gonna climb up?” Adam gave him a fearful look.

This was the hard part. It would technically be easier to climb back down, but farther. _Much_ farther. And the sun was going down. They could potentially reach their cabin before nightfall, if they got very, very lucky. 

“Carefully.”

He’s Flint Paper, after all; if anyone can do it, it’s him. 

* * *

They got to the wider cliff the cabin sat on just before nightfall. Domino didn’t stop breathing the entire time, which was a good sign, in Flint’s opinion, but he couldn’t tell how badly injured they were. Adam picked the lock with shaking, cold hands, under plenty of gentle encouragement from Flint; they stepped inside to the moderately-warmer-and-at-least-not-windy cabin and Flint only paused for a moment to stomp some snow off his boots before whisking Domino off to the couch. He gently laid them down on it, and said, “Adam, in the hall there you’ll find a linen closet—first door on the left—bring me every quilt and blanket you can hold, please.” 

Adam did as he was asked, almost robotically, and Flint made a mental note to check him over next. He was clearly in shock, he could be hurt without realizing it. When he was confident Domino wasn’t going to fall off the couch or stop breathing, he stood and walked to the fireplace. He always kept a few logs in the fireplace for an emergency—if he got in late, couldn’t fetch firewood, and needed to not freeze—so he quickly set about lighting a fire. They needed the heat, badly. 

“Here’s all I can hold,” Adam said, voice muffled by the blankets mushed under his jaw. 

Flint stood and carefully took them from him, proceeding to drape several over Domino, and leave the rest on the coffee table, minus one he drew over Adam’s shoulders before asking, “Are you okay?”

“My paw hurts,” Adam replied numbly, holding it up, and Flint took it, turning it over and seeing the red mark of some pretty severe rope-burn on the cracked paw-pad. That was an easy fix. “Tha’s all, I think.” 

“Alright, come on, let’s get you patched up.” 

A bit of warm water, rubbing alcohol, and Neosporin later, Adam’s paw was at least not bloodied anymore. Flint gently wrapped bandages around it as best he could with shaky hands; the whole time, Adam kept peering out the bathroom door at Domino’s limp form on the couch. He was starting to come back to himself, no longer having that faraway look to his eyes, but he still wasn’t _entirely_ there.

Flint cautiously took Adam by the shoulders, catching the poodle’s attention. “You sure you’re not hurt anywhere else?” 

Adam shook his head, eyes full of uncertainty. “I… cannae feel anythin’. Anythin’ at all.” His paws and his lip were trembling. “Are… are they gonna be okay?” Flint didn’t know how to answer that but the silence and indecision spoke for him. And instead of watching Adam further spiral into anxious doubt, he saw a strange almost- _shadow_ pass over the dog’s face as he clenched his jaw. In that moment, they reached a mutual understanding—that no matter what happened, they were going to do what they could to make sure Domino wouldn’t die.

“You keep an eye on them, okay, champ? I’m gonna see if I can’t get through to emergency services.” He patted Adam on the shoulder.

Adam nodded.

* * *

Flint came back into the living room to see Adam pacing back and forth and rubbing his hands against his arms, still a little shaky, keeping a close, watchful eye on his sibling. His gaze snapped to his dad the moment the detective entered the room. “They won’t be able to get here until the storm subsides, it’s too much to fly through.” 

“An’... how long d’you reckon it’ll last?” 

“No telling.” Flint just hoped it wouldn’t be _too_ long.

A pause. Adam rubbed his arms again. “Still right baltic in ’ere, even with the fire,” he mumbled.

“I know,” Flint sighed. “Not much we can do there, kiddo. Come on, sit down a minute.” 

Adam shook his head. “If I sit, I’ll pass out, an’ I cannae do tha’ right now.” 

Flint didn’t know how to argue, and he didn’t really want to, so he just thought for a moment, then said, “I’m gonna make some hot chocolate. Lemme know if they wake up. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Flint stepped back out, ducking into the kitchen, but he kept the door open, just in case. Just not being able to see the two of them was setting him on edge, but he’d also rather not burn himself as he turned on the stovetop. They didn’t have any milk, of course, so he’d just have to make inferior hot chocolate with water, but it would be better than nothing. Something warm and comforting was what they all needed right now, and he kept this place somewhat-stocked with nonperishables, including marshmallows. And given his tendency to have to turn literally anything nearby into a weapon, he had several mugs. 

It would take a long while for the kettle to boil, though. Flint stood in front of the stovetop and looked down at his still-trembling hands, noticing for the first time the rock fragments and red lines tracing all across them. Knuckles cracked and bleeding from the cold, palms scratched to hell and back from the climbing. He still couldn’t feel anything, but he was pretty sure that would change soon, as the faint blue hue was fading from his fingertips. It didn’t exactly matter at the moment, but he could sense the feeling coming back to him. His leg was a bit sore. That would probably turn into a bigger problem later, but again—didn’t matter at the moment. 

Aside from the crackling of the fire and the whirling wind, the creaking of the old wooden cabin in the intense storm, and the sound of the kettle slowly heating up, it was silent. This wasn’t how it was meant to go. By now, they were supposed to be nestled on the couch together, poring over the case details. They were supposed to sleep well and get an early start tomorrow. That wouldn’t be happening now, for sure. He wasn’t complaining about that part—he just wished he’d been able to keep them safe.

But he never kept anyone safe, did he?

The kettle whistled, calling his attention again, and he set about properly mixing up the cocoa and pouring it into mugs. For now, he just poured two, and then flicked the dial of the burner to the Low setting, left the kettle there, and plunked marshmallows into the cocoa before heading back to the living room, where Adam was still pacing, but a bit more stiffly now. Surely he was sore from climbing. He turned when Flint stepped into the room, again, and Flint extended a mug to him. “Come on, just—sit down for a moment, sit by the fire.”

Wordlessly, Adam took the mug and plunked down, his back to the fire, still watching Domino. Flint settled in beside him, watching the fire first before turning a bit to look at Domino as well. 

They didn’t look dead, but they didn’t look asleep, either. Flint knew by now they had a tendency to curl into a ball when they slept, even if they didn’t start out that way, but they were still lying on the couch in the same position he gently put them down in. That alone was worrying. 

The mug of cocoa warmed his hands nicely, and the fire was offering a flickery wall of heat to his back. He was starting to feel almost normal. _Almost_. His hands still weren’t quite steady, and the deafening silence of the cabin brought his tinnitus to the forefront, alongside the turmoil in his own head. All he could do was watch them for signs of life and try not to think about the blood tangled in their hair or what it could mean, whether or not they'd ever wake up again, whether or not he'd dragged another person into the abyss. Was he cursed? Things like this seemed to always follow in his wake. Sam and Max had been lucky to go out on their own, not partnered with him. It was probably why both of them were still alive. Well, technically, anyways. More alive than his last partner, anyways, and suddenly he found himself wondering what Domino's last thought would've been and whether or not they blamed him, too—

Domino moved. Adam couldn’t have stood up faster if he was on fire, though miraculously, he didn't spill any cocoa. He set the mug down on the little table in front of the couch as he rushed over, Flint pretty much right behind him. 

Domino groaned, lifted one stiff arm to rub their face, and eased their eyes open. 

“Domino?” Adam asked gently, and they peered at him, looking a little out-of-it. “Are you okay?” 

“I feel like freezer-burnt death.” They replied in a scratchy voice, slowly and painstakingly moving to sit up.

“Hey, take it easy, champ—” Flint started, but they interrupted blearily.

“M’fine, man.”

“—you’ve been through hell, don’t hurt yourself more.” 

“I bend m’ physiology t’ my will,” they croaked, then snickered a bit hoarsely, finally sitting up on the couch. Adam settled in next to them on one side, but Flint still hovered for a moment before remembering the cocoa and going to fetch it. At Adam fussing over them again, they waved a paw, saying, “Seriously, m’fine. Just a little groggy.” 

“That’s likely the concussion.” Flint responded from the kitchen, before entering with a mug of cocoa. “You gave us quite a scare, peanut…” He set the mug down on a coaster next to the one Adam set down earlier. 

“I’on’t remember,” they mumbled, pressing a paw to their forehead. Flint sat down next to them, and gently reached over to hug them. They leaned into it, and Adam immediately piled on, almost squishing Domino until they choked out a, “I think m’ ribs’re cracked,” resulting in both of them backing off. 

“Which ones? Are you still in your binder?” Flint _almost_ fussed. As close as he could get to it, anyway.

“I dunno, and, yeah,” they rubbed their side. “I’ll get outta it when I can stand again.” 

“We can give you a minute to sort that out,” Flint stood again, gesturing for Adam to follow. Domino didn’t protest, so the two went to the kitchen, shutting the door behind them this time. Adam stared at his feet as Flint puttered aimlessly for a moment, not yet ready to not be doing anything. Eventually he realized there’s only so many times he can open and close a cabinet before it becomes the actions of a man less sane than he likes to consider himself, and he stopped, looking almost lost. 

“... I thought they died,” Adam whimpered, immediately catching Flint’s attention. His arms are drawn around his midsection, tightly, shoulders hunched and eyes to the floor. Flint stepped over to him and his shoes squeaked a bit on the wet floor. At least it was warm enough in here to melt the snow. “I thought they died an’ I thought _y_ ’were dead an’ I thought _I_ was gonna die an’—an’—” he choked off with a sob and Flint hugged him tightly. 

“Shh, shh, Adam, it’s alright.” He soothed as the black poodle cried into his shoulder. “You were really brave today, champ. Couldn’t’ve done it without ya. It’s alright. It’s alright.” He shut his eyes and held Adam close, silently relieved everything turned out more-or-less fine. Definitely better than his worst-case scenario. He wasn’t going to let the two out of his sight anytime soon, though. 

They stood there for a long, long while, Flint gently petting Adam until he calmed down enough to head out again, wiping his eyes. Domino was still on the couch, binder folded (almost hilariously) neatly on the table beside Adam’s mug of cocoa; they were holding their mug tightly in their hands, wrapped in a nest of blankets. 

“Thanks fer the hot choc’late,” they mumbled as the two approached, looking down into it, “Think I feel too nauseous t’drink it, though.” 

“That’s alright.” Flint settled down next to them, and they drew their knees up closer to their chest to give some room as Adam immediately settled in right next to him. They then leaned over a bit to set down the mug before shifting enough to be able to hug him, extending a paw to Adam as well. Flint drew them close, mindful not to squeeze them too tightly for fear of hurting their ribs, and yet he still did his best to keep himself together. 

“I’m glad yer alright, Dad.” They mumbled into his shoulder. 

“I’m glad you’re alive,” he admitted quietly, resting his chin on their head. "I'm... so sorry. I should have—"

"Shaddup." Domino bonked their nose into his collarbone for a moment. "Nothin' we could do fer it. S'alright."

Everything felt fine, all of a sudden. Well, not fine, but when Flint had both them crowded around him it really sank in that they were there, and they were alive, and they were okay. A little bruised and tired (and probably hungry), but perfectly fine. He felt tears welling up and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will them away, but of course, it wasn’t that easy—it was never that easy. He choked back a sob and felt both dogs press a bit closer, Adam nuzzling into the back of his other shoulder. 

* * *

After a little while, once the cocoa had been drank and they'd had enough cool-down time to feel something other than terrified or cold, Flint scrounged up some beans, cooked and threw them in slightly-stale tortillas, and the trio had dinner. It wasn’t much, but it was good enough. Adam refused to leave Domino’s side, understandably—they did need someone to watch them and make sure their concussion wasn’t worse than they’d realized. Even now that it was pretty certain Domino was fine, he wasn’t budging from their side; the two were lying on the couch together, Flint sitting on the floor beside it, struggling to stay awake to keep an eye on his kids.

His fatigue doesn’t go unnoticed as he rubbed his eyes for the tenth time. “Y’know, ya can go sleep. I can keep m’self awake ‘til help arrives.” Domino carded their fingers through their little brother’s hair as he snored away, head resting on their stomach to avoid their ribs. 

Flint shook his head gently. “Not that I don’t trust you, peanut, but I just… I don’t think I can sleep while there’s still a chance you won’t be alright.” He admitted, trying to give them a reassuring smile that looked more strained than he realized. 

They lifted a paw, other still trapped under Adam’s snoring form, and Flint leaned over for as much a hug as the situation would allow. They stayed like that for a moment before Domino said, “Y’know, I’ve been through a helluva lot _worse_.”

A pause, and they retracted their arm. Flint tilted his head slightly, processing, then cautiously asked, “You have?” 

They didn’t answer right away, then said, “I wanna nod but I think I’d throw up.” Flint laughed, and they snickered, before continuing, “Yeah. I’ve… uh… I’ve had worse happen. Couple cracked ribs an’ a li’l concussion, I’ll be a’ight.” They patted him on the shoulder, offering a strangely-reassuring smile. “It’s no big deal. Honest.” 

Flint realized in that moment that the English language wasn’t complex enough to properly describe the conflicting feelings that information gave him. He knew Domino went through some rough times, of course—he knew in the same way he knew, when looking at a suspect, whether or not there was something they weren’t telling him—but they’d never talked about it, and he’d never asked. Not that he didn’t care, of course, just that he wasn’t keen on opening old wounds if they didn’t want him to. He wanted to ask for more details, but he also didn’t want to know. For once, he didn’t want to know anything. He was glad they would be alright but he was so, so sad that _falling off a goddamn cliff in the middle of a goddamn blizzard_ wasn’t the worst thing they’d been through. And some part of him just wished he could time-travel to protect them from whatever could possibly be worse than this. 

But he couldn’t say that, because Domino wasn’t a child. They didn’t _need_ to be protected, much as he’d like to. So instead he just smiled back and softly said, “I’m glad you’ll be okay.” 

They patted him on the head gently. “Go to bed, Da.”

“I’m not leavin’ this room, peanut.” 

“Then at least get some pillows’n’blankets in ’ere, if no’ the whole mattress.” They snorted. “No way sleepin’ on this floor is any good fer yer back.” 

“Yeah, okay. Alright.” A silence settled as he nabbed the quilts and pillows, settling in right beside the couch, less than a foot away from his two kids. If anything happened, he’d be right there, and it was reassuring to him. 

Even more reassuring was Domino reaching one paw down to gently poke his shoulder. “M’right ’ere, okay?”

“Alright.” 

“G’night, Da.” 

“Good night, Domino.”

**Author's Note:**

> im likely to go back and edit this one cause it still feels Kinda Unfinished but. i wanted to share it!! hope ya enjoyed it/it didn't hurt too bad. :] also im def gonna draw a thing for it so check my tumblr scourgadow.tumblr.com for that lmao (ill likely add a link or somethin. or just put the image in here? idrk how that works wsdfghjk)


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